Tuesday, May 3, 2011

I Find The River Restful Again

The Hudson river is calm now,before me.by Green Island bridgeat the feet of Troy.I imagine its green soup seeping from sundrenched algaesthat grow over pebbles in the Adirondack brooks.The sandpipers stepping, plucking grubs.A primeval place i could have made my hometo wake to the sounds of the speachless birds.

The river is resting.after its busy weekend, whenon my way to the bus this past fridaythe river surprised me.Not aimless and ambling,bland muddy,but an swirling burls of green waters intent on passing mefaster than i had ever seen it,toting jostling tree trunks and foam and random stuffstartlingly high.I could almost reach below its cement bermand touch itwhere it's usually five feet below,unreachable.

The tide was up .And i remembered seeing the sliver mooninching towards dawn a few mornings ago.The rebirthing jesus moonwho called people to churchesemptying the streets of troylast easter weekend.Then to slipp behind the sun for rebirth.Sun, the far seething furnace giantbirthing the elementsand the moon our brother, closerball of silent rock finished with its violent geology,together shoulder to shoulder pullingthe seawaters with their tide ropes of tugging gravitiestowards the hot summer nooncalling the river to flood banks, and hide tree roots.

Now the river washes mefrom a weekend of rushing and conflicted interestsof indecisionsof filling my life with pencilled in commitmentspulled by the tides that distract,from the rest,the nourishmentof the silence of earth of foundling brooksat Lake Tear of the Cloudssilent origin of the hudsonnested in trees far from the industry of men.

Now I dream in the green deeps of the ocean dreaming riverbefore the human tides of this city pull me apartagain.